The Raven Girl

Chapter 31

Eirik sat waiting upon his gilded throne, the very picture of ill-used power and greed, a slightly maddened glint in the corner of his eye, likely put there the moment he took the crown. One look at his brother dressed up in glorified jewels and cloak summoned the sharp tug of remorse on Rickard's heart, but he quickly repressed it. Eirik was far from saving now. He was no longer the same brother who cared not for the sight of blood or the scream of a tortured soul. On the contrary, he had become rather unfazed by it all, deaf to suffering and blind to sorrow.

He shook his head, roughly, somewhat missing the childhood they'd shared. Eirik's love for him now was of the false kind, but back then it had been real, diminished by the royal court and the processions and the wealth and the battles and the decisions that had to be made. Over the course of time they'd grown all the more distant and all the more troubled, so much so they could no longer quite meet the other's eye.

What had kept them together was the prospect of meeting their enemy, but even then Rickard had met that half-heartedly. After all, he did not ken what it was the Ravners had really done. It had not often been spoken of, the Ravens' Rebellion, throughout their father's reign- likely because it was easily justified in some way or the other- and it had meant that though Rickard had spent many a night among crumpled documents, trying to find a reason why a family, who had been supplied with riches aplenty, would rise up in the knowledge they would likely fail, he never found out why. What had been written was vague, stating nothing of motive, and he'd had to settle with a gnawing ignorance that ate away at his interests.

And here that apparent enemy stood, by his side: the enemy they'd spent years of their lives planning to torture, as if that would settle the mindless antipathy put in their hearts by their father and mother and the buzzing court. Yet, the enemy was but a girl, nothing like the monster he'd imagined and the empty hate he'd felt had been drained in an instant- the last of his ties to Eirik, the last of their love.

Asta shifted in her stance, whole body quivering as though she were the last leaf still clinging to a tree in the autumn breeze. Her gaze had been lowered, eyes narrowed to the floor to imitate the respect she was meant to bare for the King, her hands held tightly at the small of her back, pulling at each finger to distract her nerves.

Eirik frowned at Rickard. "I asked for the girl, not you, brother. Why are you here?"

"I have come to prevent any mistake being made on your part."

"Are you telling me that I am capable of mistakes? Kings do not make errors."

"Everybody makes errors." Rickard's eyes flickered over to the deep scars on Asta's face, down her arms, the deep shadows on her eyes. "You've made plenty, even as King."

It had not been meant as a joke, yet Eirik's frown softened all the same, a deep chuckle spreading a smile across the extent of his mouth. Rickard smiled quickly to hide his sincerity. His brother was more easily dealt with when in good humour.

"Ah, that's my little brother," the King smiled, "always putting me in my place."

For a moment it seemed the ruler had quite forgotten about Asta, who stood nervously, watching the pair talk and wishing she could be back in the kitchens, invisible to all except when they wanted to insult her or hand her another pot to scrub. Perhaps it was not the greatest existence, but it was a down sight better than this one, relying only upon the mercy of a tyrant and the wit of his brother. She would have preferred to have been in control herself- it seemed safer. However, he soon remembered why he requested her presence, giving her that twisted smile she had grown to hate so much.

"I suppose you wish to know why I've sent for you then. It seems that you disturbed the others last night. A girl came with a complaint that you woke them screaming, said that it sounded as though you were being attacked."